


Solitude

by RoboDeer



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Gen, Lonely Childhood, M/M, essek is a lonely boy, mentions of torture but not too graphic, with some lowkey imposter syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22439425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoboDeer/pseuds/RoboDeer
Summary: When Essek was a baby, people looked at him with a fond smile.His mother would lift him up into her arms, cradling his little body in a warm hug.“You are my light. You are meant for great things.” she would say. Essek did not understand the implications until much later, but it made him feel happy at the time.Little snippets about Essek's life, from his childhood until he meets the Might Nein.
Relationships: Implied Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 18
Kudos: 219





	Solitude

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I’ve ever written and posted a fic, so I am very anxious! It’s not beta’d and English is not my first language, so I apologize for grammatical issues and spelling errors in advance. Hope you enjoy though!

***

When Essek was a baby, people looked at him with a fond smile. His mother would lift him up into her arms, cradling his little body in a warm hug.

“You are my light. You are meant for great things.” she would say. Essek did not understand the implications until much later, but it made him feel happy at the time.

*

When Essek was small, he would hide behind his mother’s skirt when he was nervous. He was a very shy boy. 

Other children intimidated him, with their loud screams and their wild movements. He liked it though. He wanted to do that, too. His mother would crouch down next to him then, look at him fondly and say:

“Don’t be shy, little one. You are my son, you don’t have to fear anything.” 

Essek felt safe with her.

*

When Essek was little, magic came to him easily. 

Upon the discovery of his talent, his parents searched for a tutor right away. 

“Only the best for an umavi’s son”, his father used to say. 

The boy was placed into one of the best learning circles - not a big one, maybe a handful of other children. It was then, when he realized that the children looked at him differently. Learning was exciting though, it turned out, and Essek was _good_ at it.

When his tutor complimented him upon his clever responses or his successful cantrips, the other children would get a strange look in their eyes.

“He is the son of an umavi”, he heard one of them say one day. “Of course it comes easy to him.”

Essek didn’t really understand.

*

When Essek was little, he felt out of place. 

The children from his circle had a fun game that they used to play - a spectral blue hand materialized and tried to flick a coin into a goal made of stacked books. He always watched, too shy to interfere, though one day he finally managed to gather enough courage and ask.

“Can I play too?”

The children turned to him, their brows furrowed. Some of them whispered to each other.

“It’s not really fair if you play with us.” one of them said.

“Why?”

“You’re the umavi’s son. You’re just going to win”.

Essek didn’t ask anymore.

*

When Essek was a child, he didn’t really have any friends.

Being as smart and talented as he was, he was placed into advanced classes rapidly. The other children were much older than him and he could tell that they did not like him. Some looked at him with a sneer, calling him "young", others looked more sinister, with envy in their eyes.

So Essek turned to books. Lots of books. Some about magic, others about history, some about intriguing formulas, and others about exciting adventures from far away lands. Essek liked those the most, though he wouldn’t dare to mention it to his parents.

His father would be disappointed, he thought.

*

When Essek turned older, his father made him cry a lot. He didn’t mention it to his mother, or anyone at all, but it made his belly curl and his throat tense up. 

“The umavi’s son doesn’t cry.” father told him. 

His eyes were hard, holding up the boy’s chin. “Do it one more time.'' he said, pointing to the spellbook on the floor. Essek tried to hold in a sob. 

“I can’t. I don’t understand it.” the little drow boy tried to push his father’s hands away, only to feel a sharp slap to his cheek that echoed through the study. Essek felt the tears in his eyes blur his vision. He held his cheek, crying.

But his father’s voice was harsh. “You _will_. And you will not leave the study until you _can_.”

So Essek sat on the floor, tears dampening the yellow pages, trying to understand, trying to be _better_.

His father would just sit on a chair, watching him like a hawk. 

“You are a Thelyss.” he then said. “You have to be better.”

* 

When Essek turned adolescent, his mother’s warmth started to fade. He was not a consecuted soul, as it turned out. No strange memories plagued his dreams, no sign of an older soul that found refuge in a young body.

The son of the umavi was just a simple boy. His mother held her head high, looking down at him with a piercing gaze. 

“You will earn that right, Essek.” she said. “You are my son, after all.”

Essek just nodded. 

It was his _right_ , he was being told. Others in their society did not have that luck, so he should be grateful to work towards such a goal. 

And Essek did. Essek worked hard. He wanted to make his parents proud.

His mother’s kind smile and her reassuring warm voice started to disappear bit by bit. Suddenly, nothing was good enough anymore. 

“You can do better.” She said. “How will you be of use to the Dynasty otherwise?”

So his magic became more powerful. He graduated from class to class until even the most secret and fascinating aspect of this very universe had been revealed to him - Dunamancy.

Suddenly, this goal became much more exciting. Essek wanted to know more. He wanted to know the depths of this vast ocean of untapped knowledge. 

People stopped throwing unkind smirks at him, instead he was followed by curious glances of wonder and respect as he drifted past them, feet never touching the ground.

“You make me proud.” his mother finally said on his day of consecution. She guided him personally through the ritual, tethered his very soul to the beacon. As Essek opened his bleary eyes and looked towards Deirta, she smiled and Essek felt pride well up in his chest.

He was consecuted. Things would get better.

Expect they didn’t.

*

When Essek was an adult, he started to lose his face.

He was the son of the umavi, a dunamantic prodigy and a consecuted soul. He quickly became known as the one oddity of the Lucid Bastion, the young pup among the elder wolves.

“Hold your chin up high,” Deirta told him. “Or they will exploit whatever weakness they may find.”

The words made him shiver and Essek asked himself more than once, why life suddenly became harder after consecution.

People did not want to take him seriously, he quickly found out. It reminded him of his study as a child a lot, when the older children refused to acknowledge his existence despite his tremendous talent. 

_What if I am just a Fraud? What if they find out?_ He thought in secret, though he didn't dare to ask his mother.

“He is but in his first life”, people said. “How can he know _anything_.”

His father would shoot Essek a glare, as if it was him who had just been insulted. _You have to be better_ , Essek recalled.

And so he tried. He defended his ideas, his arguments, his very presence day after day. 

Essek _fought_. He refused to be anything but perfect. And if he couldn’t, his newly shaped persona would.

He was better than his father could ever be, he told himself after every small victory.

  
  
  


*

When Essek was the Shadowhand, he became ruthless.

He came to this position through sheer will, spite and work. Members of the court had to respect him, whether they wanted it or not. Essek would smirk at them, saw the anger in their eyes as his Queen complimented his work, and he felt good. He felt powerful. He was better.

Still, life was as complicated as ever. Being the Shadowhand did not just mean that he was drowned in paperwork, bureaucracy or state secrets, he had to personally involve himself in acts of torture and information gathering as well. Especially now, that war was at their doorstep.

The drow had to admit, he would rather spend his time researching more about Arcane secrets, but he’s never been able to get the cake and eat it too, so to speak...

The sound of a crack echoed through the prison chambers, followed by a pained groan. 

In front of him, slumped against a chair another drow was sitting. His face was twisted in pain, he was panting harshly, and for a moment - just a second - Essek felt worry in his heart, as he realized that he felt _nothing_ at this sight.

The Shadowhand’s hand relaxed from the strained gesture, but he could still feel the crackling tickle of dunamantic energy around his fingertips as he made another rib _crack_.

“I was able to extract more information. The Queen will be pleased.” He told his mother later in the evening. 

Deirta just smiled at him, no warmth to be found in her angular face.

“Good. I don’t expect anything less.”

*

When the Shadowhand was angry, he lost himself sometimes. 

Granted, he didn't get angry often, it was simply not what was expected of him. His father still managed to push those buttons though, making him feel frustrated to the point where he felt tears stinging in his eyes, feeling like that little boy all those years ago.

The Shadowhand currently stood in front of his father, no, _hovered_ even, just to make his point. His hands were clenched into fists and he could feel his heart hammering against his chest. His father’s face turned to him, looking as unimpressed as always. 

“I know what I am doing.” Essek breathed calmly.

His father huffed. “If you fail, it will all come crashing down on _us_. _Us_ , Essek. Your risky research, your risky ideas. ”

“Is this what this is about?” The young drow threw his hands into the air, making his cloak flutter from the movement. “You are scared about that perfect little life of yours?” 

He could feel his voice ringing in his own ears. 

“You came from nothing! You _married_ into this den! Without mother, without _me_ , you’d be a nobody! You didn’t get here because you mean anything! You just leech! You always _leech_!”

Silence hang in the air and Essek swallowed. His father stopped moving and finally, truly, looked at him. 

“That’s how you speak to your own father then? That’s how you show me respe--”

Essek heard himself yell. 

“ _You_ didn’t _EARN_ my respect!”

It felt like time stopped then. Like he casted one of his dunamantic spells, like the whole moment stretched and stretched and stretched. The boy could feel his belly curl.

Finally he noticed the equipment his father was gathering on the side, neatly packed into a bag. Health potions, daggers, a map, magically imbued artefacts.

His father broke the silence. 

“The high captain sends me to Bazzoxan tomorrow.”

“Good.” Essek turned around, ready to glide away. “I don’t want to see you anymore.”

His father didn’t come back. 

When the servants asked about Essek's bloodshot eyes, he did not reply.

  
  


*

When the Shadowhand glanced upon those curious creatures of The Empire, his mind drifted to those old stories he used to read as a child. These people were different, they were vibrant and loud, they did not hide behind walls made of ice. The court hated them. 

He loved that.

When The Queen glanced towards him and assigned him as their steward, Essek revelled in it secretly. Their loyalty was not towards a Luxon or any nation at all, but peace. These people wanted to end the war, as it turned out, something that had been interfering with his life all too much lately.

One of them especially stood out, and he couldn’t wrap his mind around it. The human, Caleb.

_Ca-leb._

_Caleb..._

What a strange name. He liked how it sounded.

Caleb was curious. He was clever. There was something in his eyes, something intimate and raw. The Shadowhand could see sadness, but also fury. He didn’t know who this man was, or what he had seen, but something in his heart ached. A certain familiarity that he couldn’t explain. He wanted to _know_. 

So the Shadowhand did what he did best. He became of _use_ to this strange group. Like this, they would come back to him and he could learn. He could unravel the mysteries they brought to these grey wastes. It was risky, but isn’t that what the Shadowhand was supposed to do? Take risks?

Maybe he went soft on these strangers, many in the court whispered. He was young and naive, on his first life. He just huffed at that, ignoring the remarks. 

But what if they were right?

The Shadowhand ended up helping the Might Nein (what a ridiculous name) time after time. Every new mission more dangerous than the last, though every time they returned alive.

Soon Essek started to yearn for the Messages the blue one - Jester - kept sending him. Soon he felt worry thinking about their possible fates, when they didn’t contact him after a long time. Soon he felt his belly flutter, when he did manage to steal time away from Caleb, teaching him secrets his Queen could execute him for. 

Essek looked at those beautiful blue eyes and knew, something changed. 

He wished he could see them every day.

*

Whenever Essek woke from his trance, he always felt dread.

The war had taken a toll on him. He had to be everywhere at once, what he did wasn't enough, what he thought didn't mean anything anymore.

He stood in the council wordlessly, as all glances turned towards him. 

“These empire spies are not to be trusted.” 

“The Shadowhand has failed.”

“How can we know they aren’t scheming with the enemy?”

Essek stopped to defend himself at some point, leaving it to his Queen. Funnily enough, she seemed to be the only one who was still somehow on his side. She knew he was young, but she valued his ideas for that reason. He was not blinded by distant memories or betrayals of the past, Essek lived in the Now.

Or did he?

Did he "live"?

Essek did not feel like he was “living”. Sometimes he caught himself staring at his paperwork for hours, realizing that he wasn’t thinking or doing anything in particular. Every hour spent in the Dungeon left him feeling more and more hollow. He felt tired and empty. He felt used, and he wasn't happy about it anymore.

Hasn’t been for a long time.

The time he spends in his tower, studying and experimenting, distracts him well enough, but he feels like something is missing. Or someone. Looking into the mirror reveals dark circles under his eyes and hollow cheeks. He doesn't look like himself anymore.

At night he sometimes thinks about it for too long and it makes his eyes burn, it makes him feel small. Sometimes, very rarely, he hugs his pillow and becomes the scared crying boy in his father’s study again. 

  
  


*

When Essek realized his loneliness, priorities became tangled.

He felt like a child again, like the outsider who was denied by his peers. The persona he built around himself for years suddenly felt heavy, like a mantle made of stone and iron.

He wanted to shed it desperately, but shedding it meant being vulnerable. Shedding it meant to hurt.

 _They will deny me._ He thought, remembering Jester’s invitation an hour ago. 

_As soon as I am not useful anymore, they will deny me_. Still, he felt himself gliding towards their house, anticipation and dread filling his lungs. His hand reached towards the door, shaking ever so slightly and he knocked.

Essek ended up confused. Happy, but confused. These strange people took him in with open arms, like a family. They asked him about himself, like they wanted to know who _Essek_ was, not the Shadowhand.

He could see the sympathetic look in Beauregard’s eyes, as he mentioned his father. He could see the warm smile from Caleb, as he reassured him about their mutual social awkwardness.

The Mighty Nein did not punish him for showing his weakness, instead they shared their own with even more enthusiastic vigor. They knew his position and his power, though still they decided to take that risk and be vulnerable. 

_Do they trust me?_ Essek thought to himself, long after they left for the Empire again. 

He wasn’t sure.

 _Do I trust them?_ He knew the answer to that. He knew it and it terrified him, it made him feel ashamed. His mother's words rang in his ears: 

_They will exploit whatever weakness they may find._

Essek turned in his bed, trying not to think about the warmth he felt while spending time with these people... Trying not to feel about the relief he felt in his chest, as he poured out his heart... Trying not to think about how they called him 'friend'...

Trying to not think about blue eyes and freckled skin...

_They could,_ he mused.

_But they won’t._

  
  


Essek didn’t feel so lonely anymore.

***


End file.
